


Sounds of Fun and Freedom

by TheMidnightOwl



Series: Amusement Mile [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Amusement Parks, Batjokes, Bruce is smitten, Cute, Established Relationship, Feel-good, Fluff, M/M, Rollercoasters, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff, Waterpark, amusement park date, date day, established batjokes, theme park, waterpark date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-05-18 20:09:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19341742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMidnightOwl/pseuds/TheMidnightOwl
Summary: Two years ago they went to an amusement park, but skipped the waterpark.  This year, Joker wants to get in the water.  All Bruce can see is all of the ways it could go wrong.  This is a bad idea.  Problem is, he has a hard time saying no when Joker gets this look, this look reserved only for the park.  And maybe he wants to go back, too.A sequel to "For The Sake of Laughter" but 100% readable on its own.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Звуки веселья и свободы](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20280307) by [KrasnayaLady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrasnayaLady/pseuds/KrasnayaLady)



> HAPPY SUMMER I still really love rollercoasters have some fluff about it

This is a bad idea.That’s the only thought Bruce has had for an hour.He’s thinking it as he buttons his shirt.He’s thinking it as he styles his hair.He’s screaming it internally as he pulls on swim shorts in lieu of jeans. 

On their trip last year, he bought street clothes from a department store to blend a little better.So far there have been no headlines, but he’s a creature of preparation (which Joker calls paranoia).These he ordered online, a modest pair of knee high black and white hombre board shorts.Joker kept trying to order matching Batman ones for the two of them so Bruce changed the WiFi password.He settled for custom neon purple boy shorts, lined in lyme green.He’s not bringing a change.Bruce is just happy it’s not a speedo.

Joker is in the bathroom, finishing his disguise routine.It will always be strange, Bruce thinks, to see him with auburn hair and peach skin.

Joker insisted on the largest waterpark in the world.Bruce is not going all the way to Germany for pool water.Instead he proposes the park they went to two years ago, where this unintended yearly trip began.Its waterpark is the largest in the region, which Joker eventually accepts as good enough.As an act of good faith, Bruce lets them stay in a hotel this time, using an alias credit card.Joker squeals when he sees the little towel animals.

Bruce demanded multiple tests of the new foundation before agreeing to this.  Where last time it only needed to change his skin color, protect him from the sun, and be sweat resistant, this time it needs to be completely waterproof, sweat resistant, and resilient to the chemicals in the water, such as chlorine.  It took some time, but Joker’s desire to go kept him determined enough to try again.  Finally, one passed every test, as did the colorless protectant made to layer over it.  And it twisted Bruce’s gut, because now he’d have to keep his promise.  

This is a bad idea.

Joker behaves in the car.He does well on these trips, perhaps out of fear that Bruce will turn the car around.Which he would, if it felt like Joker would be too excitable to maintain composure in public.That would escalate quickly in the worst directions.Joker’s fingers drum on his lap or the armrest, he hangs his arm out the window and surfs his hand on the wind, he plays with the radio, anything to expel energy.Sometimes he sings along, overdramatic, trying to get a smile out of his serious-faced Bat.Bruce doesn’t give him the satisfaction.

They approach the park from the waterpark end this time, and Joker is giggling in anticipation.The sun is high in the sky, already hot and threatening to become brutal at the day’s peak.Without a cloud in the sky Bruce’s nerves are wound tight.Will he be able to get Joker to reapply often enough not to sustain serious skin damage?He swallows the panic long enough to flash the parking attendant a smile and pay the fee. 

Joker pulls on Bruce’s hand.The walk from the parking lot to the gate is no longer than it was last time, but he’s acting like it is.It would be funny if Bruce weren’t so stressed.He prayed for no sunlight, but the universe has never cared for his pleas.As they walk up and across the pedestrian bridge, he risks a glance at the slides.Each step raises his blood pressure.

A trip to the waterpark means a larger bag... for Bruce.Joker carries only his clutch purse, capable of holding his phone and some money.Bruce carries towels, sunscreen, and copious quantities of Joker’s foundation in a backpack.He stole the notes to manufacture enough for a month.This asshole _will_ be reapplying.The bag check takes a few seconds longer than usual, which has Joker’s foot tapping. 

The gates open in ten minutes.They made good time; too good for Joker’s patience.His weight shifts from hip to hip, his foot taps a frenzied beat.When he starts biting his knuckles, an odd stress response that typically ends in a bloody mess, Bruce gently envelops Joker’s hand with his own to pull it away from his mouth.As he rubs Joker’s hand, statistics per county flash behind his eyes.Surveys, hate crimes, available resources; overall this is a safe region, but he doesn’t want to take any chances.Joker is focused on the ministrations, letting it ease the nerves.

The line begins to move.Joker rolls his neck, popping the joints.When Bruce sees the fingerprint scanners at the turnstiles, his spine runs cold.He knew some parks had heightened security measures but it hadn’t occurred to him— Christ he was so focused on the makeup he hadn’t checked.Kicking and screaming internally, he touches the small of Joker’s back and attempts to bring them to the side, but Joker won’t follow.Instead he looks back at Bruce and winks. 

They reach the turnstiles.Joker goes first, handing over his pre-printed ticket.They ask for his right thumb, the light turns green, and he’s let through.Bruce, trying to hide his astonishment, goes through the motions numbly.Once they’re both through he pulls Joker to the side.

“How?”

“You didn’t check the security, did you?”Joker says through a shit-eating grin.“Lucky for us _I_ remember I’m a wanted criminal.”

“Shut up.  What did you do?”

Giggling, Joker shows Bruce his right palm, fingers together and flat.Then, with the same shit-eating grin, peels off the skin of his right thumb.Some of the foundation leaves with it.“Thanks to my new complexion I was able to give this little idea a test.”

Bruce’s eyes dart between the hand and the false fingerprint.  “Tell me that’s synthetic.”

“Okay, it’s synthetic.”

Bruce glares at him.

Joker sighs dramatically.  “I didn’t have _time_ to test a synthetic, Bats, I was testing my makeup a million times over at your request.   They’re not dead, relax.  They oh so generously donated a fingerprint, that’s all.”

Bruce crosses his arms, expression morphing from angry to incredulous.Joker keeps glancing over Bruce’s shoulders, watching people enter the park.“I put it on ice, okay?They can reattach it.”

He rolls his eyes, but starts walking.After tossing the dead skin into a trash bin, Joker darts to his side, synchronizing their paces.“I have ready-made synthetic fingerprints.More reliable than dead tissue.”

“Ha!”Joker laughs.“What’cha gettin’ up to, Bats?”

“Taking precautions,” he says. 

Joker’s attention span is done with this topic.“So, which way’s the waterpark?”

“We don’t need a map,” Bruce parodies, “where’s your sense of adventure?”

“On my right, below the belt,” Joker says casually.Bruce hates him. 

With a day like this, the easiest odds are to follow the crowd.Bruce recalls the entrance being near a coaster.As they pass some of the games, Joker points to the balloon darts.“I’m winning that,” he states flat.He refers to the stuffed parrot, red and feathered and altogether ridiculous.

“At the end,” Bruce says.

“And you’re winning that,” Joker points to the rope ladders.

“I’m not carrying one of those.”

“I don’t care about the toys, I wanna see you do it.” 

Joker giggles, making a good enough effort to keep quiet.His trademark laughter is the one thing he cannot disguise.It’s another source of anxiety for Bruce.He commends Joker for the amount of self restraint he has demonstrates on these trips.Nonetheless Bruce won’t permit it more than once a year.Today will decide whether the waterpark will be permitted at all.Assuming they make it out alive.

“.........Maybe.”

They walk in silence for a bit, Joker in front, pulling Bruce forward.They flow with the crowd of people hastily applying sunblock to themselves so they can focus on getting it on their kids later.Some have already ditched their shirts.With the light concrete of the waterpark, the heat is going to be almost unbearable.

Finally, the arch way designating the entrance to the waterpark emerges.Admission to the waterpark is free, so the influx of people is going smooth.

“If it’s free why they got the spinny things?”Joker asks, tugging harder on Bruce’s arm.He refers to the turnstiles.

Bruce resists.Joker groans with the effort.“Crowd control.They can only let so many people in.”

“Then hurry _up_.”

Bruce smiles because Joker can’t see him.

They enter the men’s changing room.Swallowing the faint embarrassment, he lets Joker lead them into the handicap cubby, large enough for Bruce to help with the foundation.The only thing giving them privacy is a floor length curtain, which flows with the wind provided by the fans.Exasperated, Bruce holds it still with his shoes.

Joker already removed his shirt and started the process.From home they covered his face, neck, shoulders, arms, and legs, but Bruce makes him reapply all of it.They pass the makeup back and forth, Bruce covering his back.It spreads smooth and even, and within minutes Joker looks... human.He can feel his cheeks flushing.He takes comfort in how low the lighting is.

Joker reaches in to the front pockets of the backpack and produces a hand mirror and another one of those egg things.

“When did you pack that?”Bruce asks.

“After I was done this morning,” Joker says simply.He’s inspecting his face in the mirror, lightly patting his skin with the egg here or there.He scrutinizes his neck and shoulders as well, dabbing wherever he feels warrant.He tucks away the sponge and replaces it with the most bizarre brush Bruce has ever seen.Almost the size of a paintbrush, its ends are asymmetrical.Joker uses it in circles on his face, neck, and shoulders.In a motion that says _fuck it,_ he blends his torso and legs too. 

Again, he swaps out the brush for a palette and smaller brush.“Hold that,” he says as he shoves it into Bruce’s hands.He touches up the contouring he did this morning, this time also shading his collarbones.

“Jay,” Bruce pushes, keeping his voice low.

“Would you prefer I do this out there?”

“That’s all going to come off in the water.”

“Ha!”Joker double taps the brush on the side of the mirror.“Sweetie if this stuff so much as smudges they’re going to hear from me.Changing the color’s not enough, darling, if there’s no dimension to my skin people will notice, and stare.And we certainly don’t want that.”Weakness exploited.Lifting the brush, he turns his head to and fro in the mirror.“Ohkay,” he breathes.

The mirror and palette are tucked away, and a spray bottle emerges.He sprays himself from head to toe, then hands it to Bruce to spray his back.He puts it away with a look of satisfaction.

Heart in his throat, Bruce parts the curtain so they can leave.A few heads turn when two men exit the same cubby, and every muscle in Bruce’s body pulls taut, but mercifully no one makes a scene.Joker leads, confident as ever.They rent a locker for their bags, Bruce almost forgets to protect his own skin, and they’re off.The _flap flap flap_ of Joker’s flip flops highlight their synchronized steps.He’s suspicious of how intentional the loud smacking is. 

“Darling, I wouldn’t be caught dead here in bare feet.Enjoy the plantar warts.”

Okay, fair point.

There are signs pointing towards the most popular attractions.Joker steers them towards the wave pool.Bruce hesitates; he was hoping they’d do a few slides before full submersion.Joker notices his halt in pace immediately and looks over his shoulder.It’s unlike him to be frozen with fear and god he feels so stupid but if the makeup fails people will know it’s a disguise because they’ll see it in the water and who else has bleach-white skin except the—

—Joker takes his hand.He looks so happy.

He leads them on, kicking his shoes off into the small collection of sandals and flip flops huddling by the corner of the pool.He takes the first few steps in, ankle deep, and is too late to stop a yelp at the temperature.

“Shit that’s _cold!”_ He laughs with admirable restraint.

Bruce smiles.Pulse pounding in his neck, he steps in too.He’s more accustomed to trudging through cold water, unlike his partner, who is walking uncomfortably, keeping his hands and arms in the air.He can’t help the smug smile.

“Something funny?”Joker asks.

Bruce shrugs.“Didn’t expect a little chill to be your weakness.”

Joker’s mouth forms an O.He slaps the surface of the water, throwing it in Bruce’s direction, and runs that awkward run one does when waist high in water.All he can do is stare as Joker moves half a foot at a time and then falls.That gets a silent chuckle out of him.When he catches up he feels why Joker fell: there’s a sudden, sharp dip in the bottom of the pool.

Well, he’s submerged now, and having a grand time spinning himself in circles.“See?There’ll be hell to pay if any of this ends up in the water.That setting spray is the only reason my gorgeous face doesn’t end up all over your fists.”

“Keep it down,” Bruce whispers, checking over his shoulder.

Joker floats on his back, arms spread.“Sweetie, relaaaax.We’re on daycation.Quit being so tall and enjoy the water.I’m sure there’s not that much urine in it yet.”

A bell that sounds more like a fire alarm blares.The crowd around them all cheer and move deeper into the pool.Joker turns upright again and treads water, his legs tucked under to keep from standing.The waves are starting. 

Bruce doesn’t really know what he was expecting.There are clearly two mechanisms producing the waves to vary the direction, though for the most part they’re working in tandem.From their close proximity the swell is more or less like the ocean, but once it hits that dip in the pool most of its momentum will be cut off.He turns his attention back to Joker, who has disappeared.

With a jump, he scans below the surface, but doesn’t see a shape.He looks in the crowd.The waves push and pull him.That combined with the slope of the ground makes this a bit frustrating.

“Brucie!”He hears.He snaps to attention and sees a hand waiving in the air a few meters away.Walking clearly isn’t working so he swims.

Joker bobs in the water with the waves.His hair is pushed back, slick and smooth and dark brown.His skin gleams from the makeup, the water, and the sun working together.It looks nothing like him, but at the same time it does.His eyes are the same.His smile, the one that Bruce only sees on these trips, is the same.His heart aches for it.

“I wanna do the slides now,” Joker says.Bruce nods and stands, but Joker grabs his arm and pulls.“Nooooo, we gotta body surf.”

“This isn’t body surfing,” Bruce remarks.

Rolling his eyes, Joker grips him with both hands and kicks out his leg.He trips gracelessly and is carried some by a conveniently timed wave.Joker laughs.Immediately he covers his mouth with both hands.

“That’s the spirit!”He glides on the surface, letting himself be carried by the swell.Once the wave passes he plants a foot and waits for the next, over and over until it becomes too impractical.Bruce stands as soon as they’re over the dip.When Joker finally gets up he runs his fingers through his hair to pull it down, scratches and shakes at the roots, and flips it back.He sighs contentedly.Heat rises to Bruce’s cheeks.

Joker points at the first large slide he sees — a body slide — and leads the way… but it’s closed because someone vomited at the top.He makes a remark about the sick usually coming _after_ the ride. 

They turn around, and he points to another.Another body slide, there’s multiple sharing the same deck.But they’re unusually steep.They twist in and around one another, finishing in six neat parallel runways.As they walk around the side they see riders emerge and splash down.There’s a sound like a mechanism, and maybe four seconds later the riders are at the bottom.Whatever they are, they’re fast.

The line moves well enough.It looks like four out of the six are running.It doesn’t surprise him that they don’t operate all six at once.Joker’s fingers drum on the handrail, sometimes his leg starts bouncing, but for the third year in a row, his patience is admirable.As they get closer, they can peek over the stairs at the deck.Joker gawks.

The attendants let the next group of riders in.Each one slides open a door, steps into a tube, and an attendant helps them close it.They are instructed to cross their ankles and arms.One is already plugging her nose.The lifeguards check in with the attendant at the bottom, confirming again that the runways are clear.

Beat.

Beat.

_Clank._

The riders fall through the floor.The railing picks up the vibrations from their fall and as they make their way down.The whole thing is over in four seconds.Joker looks like his face might fall off.

“That is ridiculous,” he beams, “that is a _horrible_ idea.Someone’s hair is gonna get snagged and their head’s gonna get ripped off.”The idea seems to excite him further.

It’s their turn.Bruce chooses a tube and opens the door, and some clown slips under his arm and climbs in while thanking him for opening a door for a lady.

Bruce rolls his eyes, hinting at fondness, and gets in the one opposite.Sound like a waterfall bounces around the walls of the tube.There is water cascading down his back.He looks down at the floor, where a small window shows him nothing but darkness, and the hinge of the drop door.He’s not scared, or concerned with Joker’s comment, but the idea of falling without knowing when, while confined in a tube and void of agency, is cause for some natural anxiety.

He looks up at Joker, and is instantly glad he chose the one facing him.He’s rubbing his arms, crossed over his chest, and his shoulders are shaking in what Bruce imagines is nervous laughter.His face gives away the nerves.He catches Bruce staring and makes a face.Then his head smacks against the back of the tube and he dramatizes the anxious grin.Bruce is about to give a thumbs up when his entire world goes black.

He manages not to hit his head when he falls.The free-fall only lasts about half a second, but the surprise is a thrill.The tube is narrow, and he’s coursing down at breakneck speed.The only information he’s able to process before he splashes down is that it’s dark, fast, and the bolts kind of hurt.Then he’s blinded by a light and crashing on a shore.Before he does anything he needs to orient himself.Coughing keeps any water out of his lungs.He stands, and smooths his hair out of his face.

Joker splashed down about half a second after him.He orients himself with more elegance than Bruce, laughing all the while.The distance to the exit is like a catwalk to him.Pale skin glimmering in the sun, the lines of his collarbones emphasized by shadow, high shorts showing off the full length of his legs, and all of the muscle normally hidden underneath the three piece suits.That deceiving strength that is always underestimated by his opponents, now on display for the world to see.Bruce swallows.

And then he remembers the bolts that scraped his skin.Hastily he pulls Joker aside so no one can see his back.If they exposed his skin it’s a long walk back to the lockers.They should be heading there soon anyway to reapply but god he was really hoping they’d stick to slides with rafts so this wouldn’t happen.

“Ooh, something’s goosing me!”Joker giggles.

“No more body slides,” Bruce says, running his fingers down Joker’s back.There’s nothing much, really, some areas are a little thinner now but nowhere’s pearl white.Still, it would only take one.

Joker sighs, soft and amused.He turns around and takes Bruce’s cheeks.“Bats, Brucie, I know who I’m saying this to, but _stop worrying._ How many times did we test this batch?”

“…Forty three.”

 _“Forty three tests._ That’s overkill even for you.We’re going to be fine.”

Bruce exhales deep, trying to let go of the tension.“You don’t see how many ways this could go wrong.I have to know where they are.”

“If that’s all you’re looking for, that’s all you’ll see, and then you won’t have any fun, which means I won’t have any fun, and that’s the whole point of being here,ya dingus.Stop ruining it for yourself.”

In their little corner under the veil of artificial palm trees, Joker steals a kiss.Bruce’s heart leaps but his body is frozen stiff, unable to even scold.Joker’s eyes are alight with affection and confidence.When he smiles, though, it’s the trickster at play.He claps Bruce’s cheeks and spins on his heel.

“Now chillax, Brucie goosie, you’re killin’ my vibe.”

“Oh no,” Bruce warns, “you are not calling me that.”

“Unclench your ass so I don’t have to!”Joker calls over his shoulder, paces away now. 

Perhaps in an act of faith, Joker leads them to the lockers.The liquid foundation looks enough like a small bottle of sunscreen, so they stay outside, in the least busy area of the lockers.He covers the thinner patches on Joker’s back, feeling the flex and pull of his muscles while they both work. 

The nights that are less frantic, the nights that are soft and exploratory, Bruce secretly admires the visibility of Joker’s movements.Tendons and bones move under the skin with every action, and it’s enrapturing.Bruce gets lost in Joker’s skin.He remembers — a lifetime ago, when they were both young and arrogant — how tough and cracked Joker’s skin was from the acid.It felt like sandpaper when he would cuff him.He can’t even imagine the regiment it must have taken to heal and restore it.Out here, in plain public view, Bruce takes a moment to appreciate how beautiful he is.And how he prefers the pearl skin.

He noticed a concession stand as they made their way back.  They eat something modest, just to hold them over.  Bruce watches Joker eat some real food (as real as food can get in an amusement park).  Satisfied, he locks up his wallet again and they move on.

“That one,” Joker says while pointing.Two sister slides, at least twice the width of any other rafting slide there, land in a shared pool.One of them has a forty foot drop at the end, preceded by a water curtain.The other is a gradual slope, jet black to the very end.Riders of the dipper scream in surprise every time from the sudden drop.The rafts seat up to four people, and it looks like only four person tubes are permitted, minimum two riders.There’s a short wait for a tube, then a slightly longer wait for the ride.Bruce, naturally, is the only one attempting to carry the tube.At least this staircase is in all shade.

Joker wants to ride the dipper.When the chain is opened for them Bruce puts the raft down in the starting pool.Joker sits to one side, while Bruce holds it in place it by his foot.Once the attendant approves it Bruce settles in.Awkwardly.Joker’s shoulders shake with silent laughter. 

At the signal, Bruce turns the raft just before they drop, making Joker go backwards.His sound of offense is quickly overtaken by laughter.The only thing visible in the tunnel is the small air holes every few sections, which do nothing to help one predict the turns.Their weight imbalance results in hard banks.Sunlight flashes and they drop forty feet before they’ve registered the end of the tunnel.The splash from the waterfall is a shock, but refreshing.Joker’s yelp at the drop is a memory Bruce will cherish forever.He flips himself backwards to dismount the raft, which Bruce does not attempt.They ride the sister slide just because.

As Bruce scans the abundance of pools, slides, and sunburn, Joker keeps looking at the water coaster.Bruce steers them towards it.Its name is Calypso.Its sign depicts a marine goddess commanding the water to spell her name, her long tail trailing under and forming the “C.”The queue leading to the stairs has some moderate theming that more resembles Atlantian artifacts than Greek.The line starts on the ground, a few groups before the first of the stairs.The longest wait they’ve had thus far.Once they reach the steps Joker stashes his shoes.

Water drips from the pipes above, landing cold on heated skin like a needle prick.It has not gone unnoticed that all the staircases of these rides — minus the drop floor slides — are all wood.Treated, weatherproofed, but wood.The planks are moist under his feet as they climb, the hand rails smooth save for the occasional crack.It is by no means structurally compromised, he’s more stunned at how long these slides have existed, and how the park sees no need to modernize.Beyond the water into the dry rides, there remains a hint of nostalgia, a certain pride in the long history of the park.If this is the case, they might consider preserving something less expensive to replace every few years.

A section of the track runs next to the stairs.The whir of high-powered conveyor belts precede a raft of riders.One raft at a time with a maximum of three passengers.These rafts are shaped vaguely to resemble a small fishing boat.The conveyor belts carry the rafts up the inclines so they can splash down again.Between the bunny hills and closed tunnel helixes, the ride looks a reasonable length and well designed to be thrilling but not overwhelming.

Only three groups remain before them.They stand on the very tops of the steps, able to see how they will board.A large conveyor belt carries rafts from the bottom pool back to the top.They watch as the next yellow tube climbs up and rolls over the rollers.It waits on another conveyor belt that will take it to the edge of the first dip.Water pumps out the entrance to the tunnel.The seats are divided by two narrow pads.The largest of the group must ride in back, the smallest in front.The group all line up, the tallest climbing in first.The water at the front of the tunnel shuts off.

…Oh no.

He spares a glance at Joker; he’s noticed, too.  The attendants are inspecting the control panel.  The heavyset woman remains seated on the raft while her two companions — presumably her son and daughter — remain standing.  One of the attendants shouts over the rail to the lifeguard below, they exchange some sarcasm, and then she reaches for a phone.  Calling maintenance, then.

Joker takes a deep breath, in and out.  He puts one leg up a step and stretches his back.  Shifts which leg is up.  Leans over the left rail.  Then the right.  His fingers drum on his leg.  Tendons strain in his neck and the softest groan escapes despite his effort.  Bruce taps Joker’s ankle with his foot and nods at him, a question.  Joker responds with a smile but his eyes are screaming.  He doesn’t know how long he can maintain his composure.

The groups in front of them fill in to the top deck to sit.Bruce joins them, sitting at the edge of the stairs, and motions for Joker to sit with him.Joker’s leg bounces with anxious energy; he picks at his nails.Bruce slides his foot under Joker’s legs for a point of contact.His leg stops bouncing but he still picks at his nails.He’s biting at his knuckles again.

“What’s your favorite so far?”Bruce asks.

Joker meets his eyes.“The Pipelines.Those drop floor ones.”

He smiles.  “How’d you feel in that tube?”

“Oh, it was lovely.Much more spacious than the ones in the, mm, hacienda.”He adjusts his position to mirror Bruce.Back against the railing supports, one leg bent and the other extended, keeping the point of contact.“The countdown was too loud though.”

“Yours had a countdown?”

“Yours didn’t?”Joker laughs.“Must have been a hell of a surprise.Actually that sounds more fun, can we go back?”

“Yes, we can.”

Joker beams.Bruce’s heart lurches.The simplest of things can make him so happy.His mind is one of extremes, there is no in between.His anger, violence, and sadism are like no other because of their intensity.But, so too are his happiness, excitement, affection, love.How deep his love runs.Sometimes Bruce thinks his own love will never be able to match it.

They sit in silence for a while.Joker still fidgets but he’s not biting himself.Maintenance workers appear out of nowhere.They fiddle for a few minutes and then the water turns back on.With a smile, Bruce nudges Joker’s leg and stands.They do two test runs with empty rafts before letting the group board again.All in all it added approximately half an hour to the wait time.

After the longest five minutes of Joker’s life it’s finally their turn.Bruce sits first, mildly concerned about how flat he feels against the conveyor belt.With no back support he’s probably going to have to flex the whole way.Joker sits in the middle seat.Their legs go on the sides of the tube, with Bruce’s under Joker’s arms.Joker’s feet dangle a little off the end, the lanky bastard.His cheeks flush as he remembers how soft they are when tangled around his at night.

The belt carries them forward.The starting tunnel is only a quick left turn before it drops them off the first hill.It is a lot steeper than it looks.Joker laughs as they splash down, getting sprayed with water, and another belt carries them up the next hill.It deposits them into another tunnel, pipes dousing them with water as they helix before the next steep drop.He swears the raft leaves the floor.

“Did you feel that?!” Joker shouts, attempting to turn his head.

“Yeah,” Bruce laughs.

Another helix tunnel, and they drop again, definitely lifting off the track this time.  And the next time.  Up one last time into a tunnel.  They splashdown in a fit of laughter, getting soaked by water from all sides.  They jet across the pool and the nose of the raft actually reaches the stairs.  The attendant is laughing a little too.  They dismount and push it over to her, both waving goodbye.  Joker nearly forgets his shoes.

“We got _air_ ,” Joker laughs, “we launched off those hills.”

Bruce loves him like this.The laughter isn’t manic, isn’t venomous, it’s just happy.Joker is just happy.Eyes glittering, body animated, smile warm and excited, he’s glowing with childlike bliss.He rubs up against Bruce to rest his head on his shoulder, just for a moment.Bruce leans into him.Their steps synchronize.“You need to eat.And reapply.”

Joker groans.“Do I have to?”

“If you want to stay.”

That earns a more dramatic groan.  “But moOOOMM.”

He pushes Joker away by his face.Joker cackles, recovers, and pushes back with his whole body.They play fight as they walk back to the lockers for layer three.The color is holding, and too much of it would look unnatural, so they only apply the normal sunscreen.Joker leans into him when he works on his back.Maybe he’s massaging instead of rubbing, and maybe he digs his thumbs just once into that spot that always makes Joker keen just to see if he can control it (he can’t).And then he reapplies for himself as well, if for no other reason than equality.

There are food stands serving the same general menu as the dry park: sandwiches, wraps, chicken fingers, pizza.  He buys Joker a grilled chicken wrap with fries, telling him to finish at least half.  He needs to finish the water.  He knows Joker’s appetite dissipates when he’s adrenalized.  And his stomach is sensitive enough without adding gravity defilement to the mix.

An open table with partial shade brings Bruce such relief.Joker sits in the shade.He picks at his fries, pokes the wrap with a plastic fork.Bruce slides the water to him, which he accepts, sipping absentmindedly.He’s staring off into space.Perhaps he is more tired than he himself expected.He finishes what’s required of him, and Bruce finishes the rest.They linger for a moment to digest.He takes the opportunity to meditate, briefly, on his relaxed nature last year and the year before.When Joker stands, he follows.

“Alright, what next?”Bruce asks.

“Playscape?”Joker asks and points with an innocence so stark but he can’t keep it up when he sees whatever Bruce’s reaction is.“Come onnnn.”

“Do you honestly think I could get in that?”

Joker hums.“...fine.Can I?”

Bruce gives his hand a gentle squeeze.“You’re a little taller than a ten year old.No drawing attention.”

“…Alright.”

He closes the distance between them, feeling Joker lean in to it again.They walk past a series of water fountains.Some come from within the ground, changing heights at random, stopping entirely on occasion.Others spout and cascade down odd shapes.Under the classic mushroom-shaped fountain children jump between sides of the spray, splash each other and shriek.Next to it one takes the shape of a dome, with a straight curtain of water and a curve behind it.The spray does nothing to hide the fact that two youngsters are making out behind it.

Joker parts to step on the low spouts on the edges of the play area.The cold is welcome on the soles of his feet.Bruce indulges just once.

 _“Ooooooooooohhhh!”_ When they round a corner, a large, cone-shaped monstrosity comes into view beyond the playscape.Joker shouts “I know those!I thought I saw this on our way in.”

Bruce watches in wait for a rider.They’re on an angle but he can make out where the deck is.Another four person rafting ride.There’s an enclosed tunnel that drops the tube into the massive structure, and they ride the walls of the dome back and forth until emptying into a pool in the back.

“Looks like a toilet bowl.”Bruce huffs a laugh at the comment and nudges Joker with his shoulder. 

They find the line to wait for a tube.The wait is significantly longer than the wait for their first tube slides.Then they make their way to line up for the actual ride.It’s moving at a decent pace; they’re keeping a consistent turnover.Joker expels energy however he can: drumming the railing, tapping his foot, humming or whistling; at one point Bruce hears him reciting the ingredients they used to make the makeup but whatever keeps him from licking people’s elbows to see if they feel it… again.

At the top, they set the raft down in the starting pool.He holds it with his foot again so Joker can sit.Leaning back like he’s reclining — inches from falling backwards into the ride — Joker declares “I’m going to high five the pipes at the top.”

Bruce’s smile is sarcastic.“Whatever you say.”

He situates himself into the tube easier this time.When the attendant pushes them off, he angles them again to keep Joker sideways.The first dip in the black tunnel is a fake-out.Abruptly they turn a corner and _drop._ The angle is so steep that no light gives away the fall.Joker yelps and laughs, from the surprise drop and the fact that they’re in the air again.They slide up the wall opposite, climbing higher, higher, and god damn Joker actually succeeds in slapping the pipes at the top that pump the water.The difference in weight spins them slightly as they ride the walls back and forth, funneling out the back.

Next to the exit are a saga of four pastel-colored slides, curling around each other in a maze.Two to a tube.One by one they are all conquered.With each one it feels like the one after is faster, the splashdown harder.

The sun is at its highest, baking the inhabitants of the waterpark from all directions.From its unobstructed rays from above, heating the humidity, to the reflection off the water, to the radiation of the white cement walkways, the surrounding onslaught is merciless.Bruce estimates the temperature inside the park is 95° Fahrenheit, perhaps creeping closer to 100.The two of them, more accustomed to the protection of the night, are starting to tire.Bruce, terrified of heat exhaustion in Joker, recommends they take a break.Somewhat reluctant, Joker agrees.

Bruce leads them back to their locker to grab his wallet and pocket Joker’s sunscreen.There’s a pathway opposite he noticed on every return, one that is largely ignored by the rush of people.They follow it, hoping to find some shade and maybe even a thinner crowd.

The pavement gives way to sand.False palm trees emerge from it, providing sparse pockets of shade for the lounge chairs, which face a smaller, gentler wave pool designed to mimic a beach.The sand is maybe three inches deep, nothing children could play in.Couples sit on the edge of the pool, letting calm waves caress their legs as they chat about inconsequential something or others.For a landlocked region this is probably the closest locals can get to a beach.Quaint, quiet, but the not-so-far-away kiddie playscape area shatters the illusion some.

More importantly, there’s a tiki bar. 

He makes Joker sit on a bar stool in the shade and immediately asks for two waters.Joker scoffs at the straw that does not bend.“Barbarians.”He sips with a pout.Bruce shakes his head with a smile.Then he inspects Joker’s skin.

“How do you feel?”He asks, feeling for heat that may indicate a burn not yet red.He remembers summers arguing with Alfred, so sure of himself not being burned, not feeling anything at all, and then seeing the damage hours later at home.And not sleeping comfortably.For Joker, the consequences would be more severe.

“Peachy keen,” Joker says, straw between his teeth.He’s hunched over, not holding the cup.“Feel free to keep doing whatever you’re doing though.”He laughs once, a thought occurring.“I’d be happy to drop my pants for a shade comparison.”

Bruce rolls his eyes.

The lone bartender turns to them.She looks older than the high school and college aged kids that make up the majority of the staff.Obviously she would need to be to serve alcohol.Her umber black skin glistens from a thin sweat, the long twists of her hair tied up off her neck. Two ceiling fans are her only reprieve from the heat.The garish colors of the required uniform cannot detract from her beauty.Four years ago, Bruce thinks, he would have been flirting with this woman to keep his façade of the billionaire playboy.Her eyes are wide and focused; undoubtedly it’s been a hectic shift. 

“Can I get you anything besides the water?”

Joker folds his arms on the bar, flips his hair out of his eyes, and smiles.“I’ll have a piña colada.”

“Virgin,” Bruce quickly interjects.

Joker mocks offense.“I’m nothing of the sort!You see to that personally.”

The bartender laughs, clearly trying not to.Bruce is blushing a furious red and he knows it.Hopefully heat flush is hiding it but Joker’s got that fucking look again.Waggling his eyebrows like a jackass.

The bartender composes herself.“If you want the rum I’ll need to see an ID.”

“Does a mugshot count?”

Bruce slaps him upside the head, pure reflex, then kicks his feet for good measure.They have survived the day completely anonymous, just two more faces in the crowd, and he’s choosing to do this _now?_

“He doesn’t have any money,” Bruce scolds, sitting in the now-available seat next to his frustrating lover.“And he’s not allowed, per his doctor.Just the water’s fine for me, thank you.”

The bartender nods and busies her hands.“You got it, hon.”The frozen drink is quick, from pre-packaged ingredients, but it’s sickly sweet and that’s all Joker cares about.She refills Bruce’s water after.“How long you two been together?”

Bruce freezes.Joker immediately, casually, responds “five years.Technically since the day we met but five years.”

“That’s so cute,” the bartender beams at them.She replaces the slice of pineapple Joker has already eaten.“My girlfriend and I just passed year two.I wanted to take her to a real beach as a present but we both keep getting got caught up in work.”

“Aw, you should still go for it,” Joker says.“Better late than never, right?”Bruce hears what he’s saying.

He opens his palm on the table; Joker’s fingers slot into place.“If you can get yourself to the coast, there’s a beach in Massachusetts, Crane Beach.Easy drive.It’s a reservation, there’s nature walks, and the water’s clean.All the tourists go to Cape Cod so it’s quiet.”

She hums, taps her lips with her index finger, trying to resist the excited smile.“She loves nature walks… Crane Beach, cool, thank you.I’m Alyssa, by the way.” 

She extends her hand, which Bruce takes and they exchange names.Joker refers to himself only as Jay.She continues talking with them in between other customers.They talk until Joker has finished his beverage, which takes a surprising amount of time, the conversation almost more interesting than the sugar.When they bid her farewell, Bruce leaves a generous tip.

They swim in the small, secluded pool, both grateful for the lack of a crowd.The sunscreen holds, no runoff.They’re both much too tall for the 5 1/2 foot deep end but bent knees solves that.They swim around each other away from prying eyes, save for the couple still at the edge of the water, lounging without a care in the world.The woman smiles at Bruce once, and he smiles back.Then he gets a forceful splash to the face.He chases Joker to hold him down for a return splash.They stay like that, swimming and playing, to wait out the worst of the sun.

Mercifully, 6:00 hits, and the most brutal heat is over.Joker is panting with glee, his hair dark and slicked back and drying from the chlorine.Bruce’s is doing the same.He dunks himself under quick.“The waterpark closes at 6:30.Do you want to stay for some rides?”

“Oooohhooohoo,” Joker giggles, rubbing his hands together.“Darling, why would you need to ask?”

Smiling, Bruce leads the way out of the pool.  They had a few more swimmers in their time here but they all came and went.  Only that same couple remain.  They’re deeper in the water now, using the lapping waves for a blanket as they cuddle and nap.  The man opens his eyes as they pass.  Bruce meets them, the man’s chestnut brown eyes peaceful.  His mouth curves to a faint smile, he pulls his girlfriend closer, and goes back to sleep.  Perhaps he’s overthinking it, but Bruce feels like a conversation just happened.

The route back to the lockers is short.They empty theirs and hold the button on the keypad lock to end the rental.Back in the changing room, they both shower, passing a Joker-approved two-in-one shampoo and body wash between stalls.They share the handicap changing room again; Bruce wants to make sure Joker doesn’t miss a spot for his street clothes (and to make sure he reapplies at all).When Joker towels his hair, the stain of color is massive and bold.Bruce’s blood pressure skyrockets.

Joker, sensing his panic, waves a hand.“Relax, that’s normal.I got the semi permanent stuff.This isn’t coming out for a few weeks.Hey,” his head snaps up, “you think the chlorine will turn my hair green?”

Bruce wipes a hand down his face to hide his laugh but it doesn’t work.He changes himself quickly while Joker takes his time, touching up his face.With his torso covered the reapplication goes faster.Joker keeps his sandals for now because he doesn’t want to deal with damp socks.Bruce doesn’t argue.

As they part the curtain to leave, Bruce feels eyes.Angry eyes.He scans for the threat and it comes right to them.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?”Some guy snaps.5’10, caucasian, dirty blonde hair, brown eyes, average build, toned muscles suggesting routine workouts, tattoo of a Chinese dragon wrapping around his right arm, pinup girl on his left shoulder, something indistinguishable on his left forearm.“This is a family park.There are children in here.You get off on little kids you perverts?”

People are staring.Bruce responds calmly, “he has MS.He needs help with certain motor functions.”

“He looks pretty fucking fine to me,” the man snaps, “you think I don’t know what your kind get up to in public places?”

“Hey!”Joker pipes up, “watch your language!This is a family park, there are children here!”Someone in the room snorts.

Standing to his full height, all 6’5 of it, Bruce puts himself inches apart from the man, glaring down at him.  “Go on, then.”  

The man’s face falters, his defensive stance relaxes only just, but it’s enough.Bruce smirks.“You and _your_ kind, you’re all cowards.We’re here enjoying ourselves, even when it’s difficult for him to come to places like this.I won’t let someone as completely insignificant as you ruin this for us.”One fist clenched, his other hand takes Joker’s gently and he shoves the man aside with his shoulder.The man stumbles and trips on the bench, hitting his head on the concrete wall while the bench clashes with his shins.Joker giggles at him all the way out.The crowd parts for them.

“You dirty liar,” Joker accuses with pride, _“_ MS.That was a nice touch, the cherry on top.Did you have that ready to go in your head?What am I saying, it’s you, of course you did.No one gives your bullshitting abilities enough credit.You’re like me, you know which button to push.”

Bruce drops his hand.Joker stares; Bruce’s face is still hard, his body braced for a fight.He elects to say nothing, let his love walk it off.

They cross the park, far, far, to the opposite edge of the property, where the wood-hybrid coaster is, the very first they rode on their first trip.Next to it, a weird single-car coaster: the cars are free spinning, the helixes and deep banks providing the momentum.Joker likens it to the teacups on Venom.The line is long and slow, as the ride capacity is four people.But the extreme heat kept people away from the main park, with its blacktop, no clouds, limited shade, minimal wind or air circulation.By the time they exit the day has cooled to a comfortable warm.

The term for any amusement park ride that involves spinning is “flat ride.”The class is so broad that most every ride in this park that is not a rollercoaster is a flat ride.They ride what small ones Bruce will tolerate.They absolutely most definitely do _not_ ride the teacups.Joker can pout all he wants.

The line for the red beast is a little longer than their last trip, but it moves fast.Once they make it to the station they wordlessly head for the front row queue.Front row again.They lean against the railings, facing each other but not talking.Bruce is scanning for skin damage, which Joker probably knows.He’s also appreciating his lover’s mystical beauty.

The next train has not left the station yet.  Up until this point there had been no problems.  Dread drips down Bruce’s spine.  Please, not another.  Joker looks over his shoulder at the train: the attendants are gathered at the control booth.  Bruce can _feel_ him biting his lip.  An automated message over the loudspeakers confirms his fears.  It tells them to stay in line because it should only take a few minutes.  The people around them all express their impatience in their own ways.  It doesn’t help Joker’s nerves.  Bruce hears anxious nails drumming frantically on the metal rail.

Pushing himself upright, Bruce pulls Joker in by his waist, turning him back to front.He adjusts his position against the railing as Joker slots into place between his legs, in his arms.He combs Joker’s hair with his fingers, wind-tossed from other rides and soft despite the harsh water.Careful with his nails, Bruce releases any knots before massaging the scalp.Joker relaxes in to him and his breathing evens out some.Mercifully he’s not making the sounds that usually accompany this activity.The world narrows to the two of them, breath and skin and soft, soft hair through his fingers.

It only takes about five minutes.  Clapping from the people on the train breaks the trance that befell both of them.  Four trains later they’re buckled in, staring up the 220ft lift.  The _click click click clickclickclick_ of the chain as they climb is exciting but also... strangely comforting.  At the top he takes Joker’s hand and they raise them together, fingers locked the whole ride.  

On their way out the exit, the next train rushes overhead.Bruce remembers the press of gravity as he watches them spiral in a downward helix.Still the only word that comes to mind is “home.”

Joker remembered where the camera was and struck a pose.He buys the photo.

There is one true wooden coaster left in the park.The white paint is worn but the latticed supports look recently renovated.It’s medium-sized: neither a thrill coaster nor a kiddie coaster.“Family coaster” is the most common name.A bright teal and orange sign proudly boasts the coaster’s opening year as 1939.He nods to it; Joker agrees with a shrug and a smile.The thing was very obviously built a century ago.No computers, no automated brakes, no regulated speed.This train is powered by nothing except gravity.Descents are slow until the back of the train catches up and propels them forward.The slower speed keeps the ride smooth, the sound of the wheels on the track a satisfying clanking.The sound all children associate with fun and freedom, and adults with childhood.

The last ride they tackle is a massive pendulum: outward-facing seats, 50 rider capacity, tallest peak 147 feet up at 120°.When all riders are seated and secured, the platform pulls away in sections, and the disk starts to spin.As momentum is built, and the pendulum climbs higher, the disk slows.By 90° the disk spins only a few meters, and only at the moment of suspension, before the plummet.The high capacity of the disk means it can run longer without increased wait time.And thus allowing the experience of the 120° angle from every direction: facing down, facing sideways, facing up — which eventually means hanging upside down.Staring at the sunset in the wrong orientation, while suspended in absolute zero gravity, adrenaline numbing his hollow body, provides an unanticipated fear, which becomes thrilling when his astral body is slammed back into its fleshy prison by the heavy fall of the pendulum.Joker’s trademark laughter permeates the whole ride, unable to contain in such a high, but the whir of the air combined with the might of the engines combined with the screams of 48 other people drowns him out.He’s free to be himself.

As the ride comes to the end, Joker is panting, his faint laugh a sound of pure bliss.Bruce’s heart flutters at the sight of him, hooded eyes, glossy smile, his head bent back, revealing the throat Bruce knows just where to bite.Knows how it tastes in the throes of passion, in climax, in the aftershocks of dopamine and adrenaline; not unlike what they feel now.The primary difference being their proximity to Death.

Joker stumbles dramatically as they exit, his body so animated and eyes shining so bright that Bruce knows, without a doubt, that nothing could ruin this for him.For either of them.

With the sun below the tree line and the show lights on display, Joker wants to play games.He hasn’t forgotten about the rope ladders.On his first allotted try Bruce intentionally loses, testing the center of gravity.With the ladders tied on single axes, the player’s own weight is their biggest disadvantage, unless they know exactly where to put it.On his second turn he walks across the bars, one at a time, rings the bell… and okay, maybe he does pose a little at the end.Joker claps, grinning ear to ear.Bruce tells the teenager chaperoning the game to give the prize to the little girl that had watched him.She goes home with a stuffed panda the size of a car.

Joker wins the fucking parrot at the balloon darts.He names it Polly.

The rest of the night is a slow stroll.Neither of them speak much, preferring to enjoy their surroundings.Joker has the wings of the stuffed monstrosity wrapped around himself to carry, tail feathers brushing the ground.The park’s many years are on full display at night: cineplex amber-lit signs, running neon strips, flashing Edison bulbs on every booth, old-fashioned popcorn and cotton candy carts, carnival string lights; everywhere they turn there’s a piece of some previous decade. 

They play a few more games just for the sake of play.They go into the gift shops and emporium.Joker buys some keepsakes with Bruce’s card.Bruce buys them milkshakes.They find a picnic table large enough for Polly and sit.Sometimes Bruce brushes his fingers against Joker’s.It always earns a toothy smile around a wide straw.

This time the park has to kick them out.Closing hour arrives too soon, and, reluctantly, they get up to leave, throwing their cups in recycling.Bruce passes Joker his bag of merchandise and carries Polly with one arm.For one reason: to take Joker’s free hand.He holds it all the way to the parking lot, until it’s time to stuff Polly in the trunk.This didn’t happen last year; what is it about this particular park that makes Joker want stupidly big stuffed animals.

The ride back to the hotel is quiet, calm.Joker looks asleep, save for his open eyes.He’s reflecting, committing to memory, making a greatest hits album.Bruce has a photographic memory capable of recalling any and all facts, events, places in time.Joker, is a master storyteller.Sometime in the future he’ll tell the story of this day when Bruce needs to hear it.

Two new towel animals are waiting for them on the bed.Bruce showers first so Joker is free to take as long as he wants.And he does.While he waits he does some research.Tomorrow morning Alyssa the bartender from the waterpark will wake up with enough money for two weeks at Crane Beach, a hotel in their name and the honeymoon suite booked with a letter from Bruce and Jay. 

Joker emerges from the bathroom, steam following like an ominous fog.White hotel towel around his waist, his own towel dries his hair to prevent stains.Bruce’s heart rate flutters at the sight of Joker’s skin: marble white, scrubbed entirely of the flesh-toned sunscreen.The color remains in his hair, but his skin is his own again.

“Sheesh, now I know why this color was so expensive,” Joker says, still toweling his hair.“I hope the icky water _does_ turn my hair green.”

With him close Bruce sees the pink hue of his skin and it has him on his feet in an instant.  He touches Joker’s arms, shoulders, feels for the pulse in his wrist and neck, looking for signs of sunburn or heat exhaustion.  

Joker looks at him with amusement.He switches hands on the towel to flick water from his hair at Bruce.“See anything you like?”

“Does anywhere feel too warm?Any nausea?Dizziness?Headache?Vertigo?”

Joker laughs.“Well my head’s spinning a bit from how fast you’re talking.”

“Joker I’m serious,” Bruce growls.“We’re out of the sun but you can still be experiencing heat exhaustion.”The bathroom mirror is still fogged.“Jesus, Joker how hot was your shower?”

Joker throws the hair towel at Bruce’s face.“My skin’s all red because I just scrubbed it violently for an hour trying to get that gunk off me.I’m not burned.”He takes Bruce’s face in his hands again, same as before.“Batsy, it worked.I’m _fine._ Shut up and finish getting naked.”

When they’re under the covers together Bruce is still vibrating with paranoia.With a dramatic sigh, Joker laments “fine, get on with it.”Bruce is over him in an instant: touching, stroking, counting his pulse, looking for any abnormal temperatures or marks.There’s some scrapes on his back that may have come from the drop floor slides; apart from that, nothing.He’s never satisfied, but it’s reassuring enough.Joker creeps closer to burrow into Bruce’s side, exhausted and purring like a satisfied kitten.The memory of the couple at the pool flashes in his mind.

Sometimes he has trouble processing the fact that a world of caped crusaders and costumed freaks exists in the same world as rollercoasters and waterparks.The only time their worlds ever merge is when those playgrounds are defunct, decrepit, abandoned.The Bat and the clown have fought in abandoned parks: eerie and unsettling, cold and lifeless.Now, though, they have one that’s alive.One that the outside world, the world where Bats are needed, could not permeate.Here the Bat can be a man, the clown can be a person, and the world outside cannot intervene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, funny story. I actually wrote this story last year. But by the time I finished it, summer had passed, and I didn't think posting a summer story in the fall would interest very many people. I based it on a real day I had with a friend at my favorite park. It was his first time there and he had so much fun that I had to write it down. I've been sitting on this thing for a whole fucking year. It'd make my year if you can leave a comment with what you thought. 
> 
> Happy summer! I hope you find time for your beach.


	2. Bonus Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It just kept eating at me. I don't want to change the rating of this fic but warning for violence and swearing. It's not a rollercoaster but it'll still be a fun ride.

Suburbia is a forsaken land, full of hostility and judgement hidden under botox smiles and fresh-baked neighborhood get-togethers.Make no mistake, they hate each other.The slightest deviance from routine, or propriety, or normal, is an offense punishable by social exile.Once you are the Other in Us Vs. Them, there is no recovery, no redemption.One false move, one hair out of place, you are the enemy.

Malcolm moved to the neighborhood as the enemy.There was no fresh-baked welcome party.No casseroles or apple pies.No forced socialization between their children.Him, his wife, and his young daughter, moved in with the black spot.No matter how far behind himself he put the alcohol, the drugs, the breaking and entering, the stealing, they were always there in the background.He saw them all, staring, during the open house.He knew they could smell it on him, in that way the upper-middle class do.Impoverished, uncultured trailer trash moving up into their world.But Melissa loved the house, and it’s closer to the hospital, and the school system is so good, he wants Janey to have the education he never could, she deserves everything he never got, and that was it.They took the house. 

He waved hello.They waved back.

If there was anything valuable Malcolm’s father ever gave him, it was work ethic, and cars.Well, the cars he stole, to give Malcolm practice.No matter where you go, he’d say, they’re always gonna need a mechanic.With his skill level Malcolm can walk in to any shop and start that day.So that’s what he did.Then Melissa got promoted at the hospital.Their new local economy is good; they’re not hurting for money anymore.They’re doing good, actually.Real good.He insisted on starting a college fund for Janey.So she can go wherever she wants.Leave the nest, have her freedom.For now, he’s protecting her right to be a child.To keep her safe from the adulthood his father forced on him at her age.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, they say.Maybe not at first, but he managed to put some distance between.

He surprises Melissa one day with a new car.A used new car, but new for her, only a few thousand miles on it.A full size white Sedan with GPS navigation, lane change detection, cruise control, bluetooth, the whole nine yards.With her commute being so much longer than his he wanted her to have something safe, that he won’t need to repair every weekend.His truck, while older, is built like a horse, and he’ll get plenty more years out of it. 

She starts the awkward process of trying to get to know the community.When Janey takes up softball Melissa offers to give rides, on the rare occasion she’s able to be the driver.She starts jogging in the morning, introducing herself to fellow joggers.She’s so outgoing, so approachable and friendly, it’s part of what attracted him to her in the first place.She wasn’t intimidated by his past mistakes, only interested in his present and future.

Mostly it’s Malcolm who drives Janey to practice.They politely decline when he offers.

Often times Janey will get home still pumped full of energy and want to play catch outside.  He’ll set a timer for the oven on his phone and they’ll throw back and forth, occasionally pausing so dinner doesn’t burn.  Sometimes he lobs them, sometimes he throws them on the grass, sometimes he throws to her left or right.  Helping her learn how to react to however the ball is hit.  Of course he’ll make jokes to trip her up, make her laugh and drop the ball, which makes her laugh some more and throw the ball at his head.  On the last throw before going inside he always throws it far to one side, so she has to dive to catch it.  Whether she gets it or misses it he’ll still charge on her, pick her up by her armpits, and swing her around, declaring that the crowd goes wild.  He kisses her cheeks and her hair until she’s laughing and trying to get away.

Sometimes there will be a Saturday or Sunday when he needs to bring her to practice.  They’ll get there an hour early so they can do some warmups.  One day a couple of her teammates show up early and join in.  He’s throwing to them, they all throw back to him.  He throws the same as he does with her, almost like a drill: some in the air, some to the side, some in the dirt.  When it’s in the air he tells them to call out for it, so no one bumps into each other.  

He knows there are parents watching him.He doesn’t know one of the parents watching him is also the team coach.After that practice, the she asks him if he would be interested in helping coach the team.“There’s always supposed to be at least two coaches,” she explains, “and my usual partner has to take this season off.The girls really liked playing with you.”

He turns her down.After she explains male coaches for girls’ little league are fairly common, he still fears how the other parents might perceive him being around their kids.A few days later, when Janey hears the same conversation again, she gets so excited and begs begs begs for him to be the assistant coach.With some amount of regret, he accepts.The kids all love him, Melissa looks so proud of him, and the other parents only overtly hate him for about two weeks.He feels like a fish out of water, but he loves working with the kids.

Right now, he’s back in the badlands, lounging in a buddy’s garage drinking cold beer and sharing a joint.When Melissa got pregnant, he quit cigarettes with her.He doesn’t miss them, but a blunt with the boys every now and again is good for the nerves.They harassed him for moving away from the streets in that way that means they’re happy for him getting the hell out.The suburbs might still sound like pleasant living to them.Tranquility and rainbows or whatever.They all swap work stories, family stories, fatherhood stories; Christ, they’ve all got kids now.They toast to their elderly age.

The others leave, and it’s just him and his best friend, Everett; beers in hand, fire by their feet.With the blunt finished off, Malcolm tosses the rest into the small fire.It sizzles and smokes.He asks a question he knows he can only ask when they’re alone.

“You got your fuckin’ head back on straight yet or what?”

Everett sighs, takes another swig of his beer.  “I saw her earlier this week, but I told her we gotta stop.”

“Not 'we,’ _you,_ man,” Malcolm presses. _“You’re_ the dumbass who’s cheating, not Maria.Or whichever one she was.”

“I told you just her!No one else.”

Malcolm hums skeptically, raising the bottle to his lips.“You want me to get you a chastity belt or something?‘Cause I swear if you fuck this up man.”

Everett glares at him.“Hey I ain’t the only one.”

“I know,” Malcolm agrees, “that’s why I’m telling you don’t fuck it up.I don’t know why Jami has given you so many chances but she has, so stop thinking with your dick for a second and think about everything you’d lose.You want to put Arturo through a divorce?You want him to watch parents he knows love each other split because his papá is a dumbass?”He throws a beer caddie at his friend.It was sitting in a pool of something, and hits Everett’s arm with a slap.“Fuck I need another joint.Not sharing.”

Everett swats at his face.“¡Coño, pero tu si eres un vago de mierda!This fucking guy over here with your big house and backyard and you smoke _my_ shit.When you gonna start buyin’ your own shit ah?Hijo de puta.”Malcolm just laughs and laughs.

They talk until Jami gets home, then put out the fire and break down the chairs so she can park.Malcolm gives her a hug, bids them both goodnight, and starts the hour drive home.

He barely has time to register a brief flash of white as something strikes him from behind.

—————

The world is black.And fuzzy.There’s texture on his eyes like pixellation.His mouth is dry.He fights for consciousness but it fights back.He commands his muscles to move any amount:a flex of his hand reveals that his wrists are bound.More awake now, his body is stiff and aching.His ankles are bound, too: secured to the legs of a chair.The ropes around his wrists cut into the skin, though most of the blood has dried.Every muscle protesting, he lifts his head.

The room he is in is small, damp, and near pitch black.There are two slit windows that tell him it’s nighttime.There are trees.The damp smells earthy, so probably a shed or a cabin in the woods.Rocking his chair confirms that the floor is wood, and their creaking is hollow.Thin floors, possibly a crawlspace beneath.The lack of noticeable furniture or stuff is worrisome; it means no one lives here.No one comes here.Depending on how far into the woods he is, no one may be able to hear him.

“Hello?”He calls.“Hello?”

Silence.He struggles, cursing under his breath.“Yo what the fuck man, let me out of here!Hello!Get me outta here!”

He hears a giggle.“Hey you coward ass sonofabitch, come and face me like a man.You fucking pussy, I’ll kill you.”He grunts as he struggles to break free.

“Feisty,” a higher pitched male voice says, full of pleasure. 

“Let me the _fuck_ out of here!” Malcom bellows.“Fucking faggot!”

“Oh, feisty indeed,” the voice says from a different angle.Malcom snaps his head to where he thinks it came.“You and your kind, you’re so excitable.Kinda ruins the whole buildup thing.”

“The fuck you talkin’ about, man,” Malcolm snaps, “fucking untie me you piece of shit.”He shakes the chair violently, the sounds of wood against wood a shriek in their ears. 

A hand, open-palmed, slaps him across the cheek.“I hate that noise,” the voice growls.It circles.“You and your kind, always shouting and demanding.Me and my kind at least have the decency to ask.”

“I’m gonna rip your fucking head off, man,” Malcom snarls.

“Are you sure?”The voice is back in front of him now.“I don’t think you have it in you.”

“Fucking untie me and find out.”

Silence, then a light flickers to life: an electric camping lantern sitting on a table.It hurts Malcolm’s eyes.The stranger is leaning on the table, facing Malcolm, causing most of him to be in shadow.The man is tall and skinny, short hair, wearing long pants and sleeves, he can’t make anything else out.The man holds up a folder, licking his fingers to flip through the pages.

“Let’s see.Malcolm Gladwell, 32, married to Melissa Gladwell — maiden name Walker — and a rugrat named Janey.She’s in what, second grade?I forgot to ask when I visited the school.They’ll let anyone in these days.”He’s laughing again.

Malcolm screams and flexes, trying to break the ropes with pure strength.It’s a laughable display.He fights his restraints harder.“If you touched her I swear to God—”

Something small and metal hits him square in the forehead, bringing his already-raging headache back into the foreground.For a moment nothing exists but the pain.A “shush” from the stranger follows.

“Couple of minor misdemeanors as an adult, expunged.But that charming cookie-cutter neighborhood of yours wouldn’t have sold you a house with a rap sheet this long.I’m sure you paid good money to have it swept away.My resources are better.”

“You think you know me you fuck,” Malcolm snaps, “you don’t know shit!”His struggling topples him over, slamming the side of his face against the floorboards.For another moment the world is just white.

The stranger’s laugh shoots ice through his blood.There’s a pleasure in it that goes beyond empty threats and power plays.

The sound of paper fluttering, scattering.One lands under his nose: blank.“What’d you do that for?”The stranger chides.Footsteps approach. Without the light from the lantern he can barely see anything but he smells leather when the steps reach him.Leather and polish.Memories of shining shoes for pocket change and cleaning his father’s one good pair before those rare fancy events.

Hands grip the back of the chair and right him effortlessly.  That’s not right.  This beanpole bastard shouldn’t have shit on him.  A hand pats his shoulder as it circles back round.  He tries to bite it.

“Ohoho, don’t threaten me with a good time,” the stranger giggles, “me ‘n my kind like that.”

“The fuck are you _talking_ about, man,” Malcolm shouts, exasperated.“If you’re gonna do something just do it.See how far you get.”

“In a minute,” the stranger is leaning on the table again.“You’ve got a rap sheet a mile long, but it’s boring.B’n’E, grand theft auto, vandalism, underage drinking, underage driving, blah blah, but nothing violent.No assault, no battery, no weapons, and certainly no decapitation.Not even a tiny little manslaughter, which is horribly misnamed in my opinion.”The stranger giggles again.“So y’see, your threats fall a little flat.Especially when, given the opportunity, you tucked your tail between your empty legs.”

Malcolm growls.“I don’t even know what you’re fuckin’ talking about.You’re fuckin’ crazy, man.”

“You’ve no idea,” the stranger says dismissively.He hoists himself onto the table, long legs almost touching the ground as he swings them.“Something’s been bothering me though.I know why you didn’t take the shot, but I really wanna know why you made a scene in the first place if you weren’t gonna do anything about it.”

Malcolm groans, turning into a frustrated scream.“FUCK YOU, MAN.”

“Crowded men’s bathroom on a hot summer day.Guys showing off their muscles to themselves in the mirror.Bratty kids running for no reason.Dudebros sharing their girlfriends’ nudes with each other.Average day.You see two men leave the same changing stall, fully clothed.To everyone else it’s unremarkable, but you,” he drums the table, “yyoooooouuu made a fuss!Why?”

Confusion still colors Malcolm’s aching face.Suddenly, he laughs.“You’re fucking joking.You’re fucking shitting me.”

“Ordinarily yes, not this time.”

Malcolm laughs in disbelief.“Because no one else ever pays attention.They got their kids in there and they don’t see two pervs just confidently getting each other off in a fuckin’ public place.If my daughter had been with me instead of her mom I woulda beat the shit out of them.”

“Eeeeeeeeeeehh, I don’t think so.I mean, we _did_ offer you the first shot.When tall buff and handsome dared you do something you wilted like a delicate little flower.”

“That’s who you are then?That fuckin’ fairy?”

Reaching up, the stranger turns on another lantern, hanging from the ceiling.He recognizes the angled face, clearly wearing beauty makeup.It looks like he’s wearing a three piece suit, but the shirt is a bright green.The smile, though, the closed, tight, shit-eating grin, gives him pause.He needs to keep the hesitance out of his voice.He huffs a laugh he hopes sounds confident. 

“Now me,” the stranger says, gripping the table edge with both hands, “I don’t care.I quite enjoy watching people’s perceptions disturb them, makes my job easier.But my sweetie, he’s still a little sensitive.He got over it, but I didn’t enjoy seeing it bother him even for a few minutes.It’s been eating at me.”He thrusts himself off the table, and again becomes a shadow.He circles his prey.“So.They say that homophobes are secretly gay and angry about it, but I call bat guano on that.You’re not a repressed homo, you’re a street rat who got lucky.And I’m not buying your pervert excuse.”

Malcolm spits, aiming for the stranger’s face.The stranger makes a sound of disgust and instantly delivers a solid left hook.Followed by a stronger, coordinated, very accurate right hook.Like he’s done this before.Malcolm has broken his nose before and remembers the pain.This is worse.Blood is gushing from his nose from one hit.

 _“Bad_ street rat!”The stranger snaps.He pulls out a handkerchief and wipes off the spittle.“Do you have _any_ idea how expensive this foundation is?Took me _months_.Now you’re bleeding all over the floor and I’ll have to clean it.”He stalks back to the table, sharply muttering under his breath, “filthy degenerate suburb rat cooties.” 

He pulls something out of his pocket that looks an awful lot like a fishing knife and sets it on the table with a clamper.Then something else Malcolm can’t see.Head throbbing, nose on fire, wrists and ankles rubbed raw and bleeding again from his struggling, this situation is a little more serious than he thought.He tries to keep his breathing level but every movement of his face hurts.

The stranger spins around.  “Now then,” he exhales, stalking forward, “you never properly answered my question.  Why.” 

Malcolm pushes through the pain, forces himself to speak, but he does not look at his attacker.  The left hook got him in the jaw and he has to talk through the swelling.  “Because it ain’t natural.  It’s disgusting and wrong.”  He rolls his neck.  “Especially for a guy like him.”

“‘A guy like him,’” the stranger repeats.

“Yeah,” Malcolm grunts.  “Guy like him could get any girl he wants and he chose a fruit instead.  Not right.”

It starts off quiet, then escalates, and soon the whole room is vibrating with the stranger’s rough, sadistic laughter.  Malcolm feels it thrum in his bones, run his blood cold.  Something about it, distantly familiar.  The stranger speaks between bursts.

“So you’re telling me — haha!You’re telling me — you saw a guy — jacked as fuck — hypermasculine — play— ha!Playboy womanizer looks — and you got _butthurt_ because he was diddling the wrong fiddle?”He slaps his knee and leans forward, clutching his stomach.“That — is — _gold_.”

Straightening his back, he wipes the tears from his eyes and calms his breathing.“Hoo, that was a good one.Anyway.”He returns to the table and picks up the knife.How he fit that in his pocket Malcolm has no idea.He waves it passively and is about to speak when Malcolm cuts him off.

“You pull that knife on me you sure as fuck better be prepared to use it.”

The stranger looks at him quizzically.“Okay,” he says, “clearly you haven’t pieced it all together yet so I’ll spell it out for you.”

The stranger puts down the knife and claps twice.Two overhead lights flicker to life, crudely installed and clearly not meant to be there. 

“Ha!Wow, that worked.”The stranger is wearing a tailored purple suit with a matching waistcoat and a green collared shirt.It looks ridiculous.The stranger pulls a small black bag out of his inside pocket.Malcolm recognizes it; Melissa keeps those travel makeup wipes in her purse.“My honey told you I have MS.He was lying, bless him, but the argument could be made that I’m disfigured.”

The stranger drags the wipe across his face, scrubbing hard.A second is required.The foundation is thick and sealed well, but it comes off.Removing the makeup reveals skin of pure marble white.He takes out a third and brushes it roughly through his hair.The auburn color gives way to green.He shakes his hair out, then smoothes it.

“Oh god,” Malcolm huffs, “oh fuck.”

“Took weeks for the original color to wash out.It was a relief to be my gorgeous self again after that.That foundation you spit on, by the way, cost $250 for an ounce and I worked on it for the better half of seven months.I worked _very_ hard to make that day as comfortable for him as possible and then yooooouuuu,” he puts a leg up on Malcolm’s thigh, “brought the outside world into our sanctuary.” 

Heel to Malcolm’s chest, Joker stomps him to the ground.The back of the chair hits the floor with a sound like bone breaking.The impact to his skull makes him black out for a second.When his senses come back he’s upright again, and The Joker is sitting in his lap, gluttonous smile only inches from his face.He smells like citrus and chemicals, like the peach-mango shampoo Melissa likes.

“Please,” he can’t hide the fear anymore, “please, I’m sorry.I’m sorry.I was stupid, okay.I was real stupid.I’ve got a daughter, man, a little girl.I got a wife.My family.”

The Joker drapes his arms over Malcolm’s shoulders, wrists crossing behind his head.“They need you?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, fuck,” traitorous tears escape Malcolm’s eyes, “please, I don’t want her to grow up without one parent.”

“Like you?”

“Please let me go.”He closes his eyes.Can’t look at that face anymore.“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He feels The Joker scoot even further up his lap; their noses touch.His arms are around Malcolm’s neck.Sharp metal pokes at his nape.He stops breathing.

“You love them.”All the playful color has left The Joker’s voice.“So much.Protect them against anything.Even the slightest discomfort, you’ll come to the rescue.”When Malcolm doesn’t answer, the tip of the blade starts to dig.He turns his head slightly to nod.

“You know they’d be lost without you.”Another nod.“You couldn’t live with yourself if you ever failed to be what they need.”A choked sob and a nod.“If I kill you right now, you’ll never rest in peace knowing that you left them.That you failed.”

The blade moves from the back of his neck to his chin, directing it forward again.“Look at me,” the voice of evil commands.He’s shaking as he obeys.Manic eyes, electric green and unblinking, stare directly into his soul.The eyes are wild but the brows are serious, and the stretched grin is more relaxed.He speaks again.“Same for us.”

Malcolm can’t look away from the eyes drilling in to his.Flaying him open, exposing him so he cannot hide from himself.He doesn’t dare look hopeful, but... could this just be a lesson?Could he walk away from The Joker with nothing but a broken nose and a lifetime of therapy?

Somehow, he finds his voice again, shaking with the rest of him.“I-I’m sorry.I-I’ve been an asshole.I-I didn’t think, w-wasn’t thinking.H-he’s your family, I get that.You’re doing this t-to protect him.M-messaged received, man.”A bead of blood drips down his neck.His pitch gets more desperate.“I won’t do it again, to anyone, ever, I’m sorry.I d-didn’t treat you like p-people and it was wrong.You weren’t hurting nobody.”

The knife is withdrawn.Malcolm fights off the sigh of relief.The Joker’s arms resume their position over his shoulders.His eyes are no less hungry.Their micro movements are perhaps the most terrifying, scanning every inch of Malcolm’s face; any hint of insincerity will mean his death.When he speaks, the words come out like a whisper to a lover.“Good boy.”His smile is calmer.Malcolm relaxes, just a bit.

The Joker uncoils from around him and stretches his limbs, turning his back.A few vertebrae pop.“You know, I told myself, for Brucie’s sake, that I wouldn’t do this.He doesn’t like it.And I do so hate to go behind his back.”

“H-hey man,” Malcolm says, keeping his tone positive, “I get it.Sometimes you just can’t help it ‘cuz you love them.Listen I ain’t gonna tell no one, promise.No media no police, nothing, swear on my life.”That earns a laugh that doesn’t sound bloodthirsty.The Joker sighs contentedly, turns in profile.

“Oh I know.I meant it when I told myself I wouldn’t.”The knife taps his lips twice.“But, then I had a thought.I thought, there’s already so many he still doesn’t know about.”Those eyes turn on him again, wild and hungry and paired with a feral grin.Malcolm’s blood runs cold.“What’s one more?”

“No, no no no please no!”Malcolm begs.The Joker stalks forward, grin stretching wider.“Please!I won’t tell no one!I’ll stop!I’m not hating on queer — sorry sorry LGBT people no more!My family, please—”

The Joker winds a clear wire between his fists, still brandishing the knife.He’s circling again.“I can’t use any of my preferred methods, can’t have The Joker’s MO popping up all the way out here now can we.Lucky for me—” he seizes Malcolm’s neck with the wire, pulling it taut, “—Batsy darling’s database puts the FBI’s to shame and it told me aaaaall about this weird double homicide that happened here.”He crosses the wire around Malcolm’s neck again.“Y’see there were these two fellows, regular bros, casual junkies, right?Mean looking but ultimately gutless.”He releases his hold.Malcolm gasps for air, shakes the sweat out of his eyes.“They were beaten bloody, laceration marks everywhere, died of asphyxia.” 

The knife cuts clean through Malcolm’s restraints; he flops forward, mostly failing to catch himself.His feet find purchase on the ground and he throws himself up.The Joker is fast and, with the grace of a dancer, clubs him in the chest with a crowbar.

“The police had no leads, no witnesses, nothing.Eventually they just gave up.No one seemed to care.They were more concerned with getting the property value back up.”

He doesn’t try to retaliate.Instead he turns, sees the back door, and bolts for the other direction.When The Joker kicks out his foot, the impact vibrates through his whole system.He’s trying to picture steel toes in dress shoes when the crowbar pounds the back of his skull.The world is white hot before returning to a throbbing warm.He tries to pick himself up.Black, spatted dress shoes circle to his front, switchblades gleaming in the dirty light.Malcolm’s blood drips off one blade.

“Please,” Malcolm can only manage a whisper. Exhausted, dehydrated, head pounding, he doesn’t know how much more he can take.“Please, don’t kill me, I’m sorry.I... I need them.Maybe more than they need me.My baby girl...”

The bloodied shiv tilts his chin up.  The menacing image of The Joker towers above him.  The clear wire is gathered in one hand.  “One of them was choked with fishing wire.  The other was nearly decapitated from the razor wire still around his neck.”  That hand dips into his other pocket, returning with something long, narrow, and dark.  Joker snaps it taut.

“Oh, please God no...”

“Which one sounds more fun?”

“Fuck, _please_ no!”Malcolm sobs.The Joker advances.“Janey I love you, I love you so much,” he cries, evading desperately on his hands and knees.The Joker toys with him, trading between assaults with the crowbar and dragging him with the razor wire.“Melissa I love you, oh fuck, I’m so sorry, I love you both.”Starting slow and gentle, The Joker’s laughter crescendos, coming undone as Malcolm’s pleas come undone, growing stronger when his will bleeds weaker.

In the dark dead of night, that laughter can be heard for miles.The closest ears are miles more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little voice in the back of my head kept whispering to me that Joker wouldn't just let that guy get away with talking to his Batsy like that. My goal, however, was to humanize him and maybe even make the reader like him before killing him. Because people are complicated. Doesn't make them any less wrong, just more complicated.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment if you wouldn't mind <3


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